


Star Wars: Free Sky

by K_Douglas



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coercion, Crime, Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Manipulation, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-10 19:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12918267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Douglas/pseuds/K_Douglas
Summary: She's good at starting fires. Hell, self-destruction and collateral damage are what she's best at, and “reckless” might as well be her middle name. The Rebellion could use a fighter like her, but they'll have to find a way to contain her first.OR: Cassian Andor may not be a people person, but he can keep them in line, especially if they're spice-addicted runaways-turned-pirates from a good, honest family with an all too careless approach to life.





	1. Making Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This'll be a slow upload story at best. I'm not too diligent. Sorry.

Spice always burned.

If you had the credits for the good stuff, the burn was more of a hot tingle, pricking along the skin in a way that was almost kind of pleasant. You could close your eyes and let your mind be pulled up, up, up while the rest of you was held down, down, down to lay back on a bed of pins.

If you didn't have the credits, you settled for the cheap stuff. The cheap stuff burned bad, like scorching steam off the surface of the Garganoa Springs just before nightfall cooled them down. It was hard to fall back into the high in those first few minutes. You had to force yourself to let go, had to tell your mind that your leg wasn't melting off at the injection site, that the blood wasn't beginning to boil. The first five minutes were hard, but once you got through it it was easy enough to forget the pain.

My old mentor taught me that. Sometimes, if I took just the right amount of spice at that magic thirty-eight hour mark of sleeplessness, he'd teach me all over again and he'd do it in person, nevermind he'd been dead for nearly six years now.

I had just been talking to him, good ol' Dom, my mind flying high on a mixture of some low-grade Crash n' Burn and cheap jet juice, when a tremor shook my bed. 

Or had it?

I blinked hard, chasing the starbursts from my eyes and leaning up when my bed gave another shake. I fell back into the pillows, brow furrowed and ears still buzzing from the spice. It was hard to think when you were high, and even harder to do it coherently.

Straining to lean again, I hadn't been upright for more than a second before an almighty lurch pitched me right out of bed and onto the floor. From here I could hear a steady beat of heavy boots thudding down the corridor, keeping pace with my racing heartbeat.

I lost myself to it easily, the spice making it so appealing to just forget everything and fade off into a blissful daze.

The beat was getting louder. I could feel its vibrations and they tickled my ear. The metal floor was cold on my too-warm cheek and I had forgotten how to swallow, saliva slowly seeping out the corner of my mouth and dripping to the floor.

There was a glimmer at the very back of my mind, some small part of me that seemed to want to get up and find out what was going on, but it was so hard to think, and it was so easy to lay there and do nothing.

The beat was louder. Louder. Louder.

Louder. Louder. Louder.

Then, all of the sudden, it stopped. 

“Cap'n!”

The voice was sharp and loud. Too loud. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth against the sharp pain that lanced up the back of my head and through to my right temple.

“Cap'n, he got us in 'is cross'airs!”

I didn't move. I didn't care.

“Cap'n, get up!”

A pair of hands grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and jerked me up off the floor. My head lolled this way and that, my neck unwilling to put any effort into its job.

Kinda like me.

“Cap'n, do I gotta stim ya?” 

The hands shook me for a while before dropping me altogether. I fell back onto the bed and let my limbs splay haphazardly wherever they pleased. I willed myself to turn into warm Andorian jelly and soak into the mattress.

I didn't.

There was a lot of movement in the room, a lot of clatter and clang from the left side, then the right. 

“Stims. Stims. Where ya kriffin' bastards hidin'?”

A soft tremor shook the bed and grew steadily stronger until a pop and a jingle sounded off to my left. I let my head fall to that side and watched as one of the suspension rods for the bed broke free from its joint. Just as the rod gave up, the bed gave a creak and a sharp jolt as one of the corners dropped a good few inches. My stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at the sudden movement and I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from vomiting.

Caught up in my moment of fascination with bed rods and joints, I just barely caught sight of the shadow belonging to whoever had been talking to me. It came up on me fast, and before I could look at it properly, a sharp, stinging pinch at my bicep had me yelping out in pain and sitting up straight so fast I got dizzy.

I held the area on my arm and groaned as I felt the familiar sensations of a wake-up stim flood my body. A cold rush spread out from the injection site and quickly chilled my whole body. Every little hair stood up, every nerve sparked back to life. My teeth began to chatter, my eyes started to water, and my nose ran heavily. I could feel sweat dripping down the hollow of my throat and down over my back. A deep, nagging itch started up just under my skin. I scratched absentmindedly at the back of my hand with dull fingernails.

A “zing” shot straight down my spine and I jerked and shivered uncontrollably, muscles spasms making it near impossible to do anything but wait for it to pass. I tried my best to shake it out between the fits, and when the zing spread out to my fingertips and toes I shook those out, too.

“Sorry 'bout that, Cap'n, but we ain't got time fer spicin'. We got a problem.” 

I recognized the voice now. Dalga Nastra, my mechanic. He was the reliable sort and easy to push around when you weren't spiced so high you couldn't feel your face.

“That pilot from Nar Shaddaa, the one ye tried ta knock boots with? A karkin' Rebel,” Dalga said, tapping one foot against the floor, then switching to the other. He waited, hopping back and forth anxiously while I pushed through the last bit of wake-up. 

A throbbing headache and weak muscles were all I had left of my spice high. 

The moment I went to stand, a swooping feeling deep in my gut had my knees giving out and my head swimming. Sure enough, Dalga was there to catch me. Wrapping his hands around my upper arms, he hoisted me back up onto my feet and held me there 'til I was good and steady.

“Ya sure iss tha same guy?” I slurred over a thick, dry tongue, my slow mind struggling to recall any pilot from Nar Shaddaa I had come across. I didn't doubt it had happened, but my memory was fuzzier than it normally was after a night at the cantina, and if the pilot I had tried to push on was the same skug blowing holes in my hull, I wanted to remember what he looked like so I'd know which karkin' face to blast off.

“One an' the same, Cap'n. Brax ain't been able ta shake 'im,” Dalga answered. I freed an arm from him and swung it around his shoulders, leaning heavily against him. Dalga was far more loyal than I had ever expected him to be, given he'd been nothing but some Rimmer refugee I'd taken pity on after a good night at a cantina. I could still see his sad, dirty face in my memory, holding out a pathetic little toolbox and asking for a job. I glanced over at him now as he held me at my waist and helped me out of the room and into the corridor. He was still dirty, but not so sad anymore. 

Dalga practically carried me down the passages, and it was a good thing he did. Crash n' Burn addled the mind and made it slow, and wake-up stims sent it full-tilt into overdrive. Mix the two and you were left with feet that didn't want to move at all and legs that moved too much, and that made it very hard to navigate rather small corridors on a lurching ship.

“Jos thinks 'e's been followin' us since the stop on Hutta. Brax thinks 'e's been tailin' us longer. Says 'e prob'ly stalked us ta Nar Shaddaa in the firs' place,” Dalga said, helping me duck under a particularly low bulkhead. I felt a twinge of irritation at the idea that the skug had targeted us from the beginning, and even more than a twinge of embarrassment at the thought that I had tried to push on this guy who had meant to ambush us the whole time.

Finally, the corridor opened up into a wide room filled with flashing lights and beeping computers. To the left, Jos and Toba were working on rewiring the controls for the backburners. The two young men had grown up together on Corellia, where they learned how to lie, cheat, and steal at a young age. The first time we met, they'd been conning some Alderaanian bigwig out of several hundreds of thousands of credits. The second time we met they were joining my crew.

To the right, Sivi sat at the radar and called out our new friend's flight patterns. Sivi was a beautiful Chiss, and smarter than any being had a right to be. She'd been a slave when I found her and had a name I didn't think I'd ever be able to pronounce, let alone remember. It only took a few shots from my blaster for her to be free, and she chose to use that freedom to join my crew. Probably the worst decision she'd ever made in her life, but a good one for me and mine. Half the jobs we ran would've been shot had she not been there to think us out of sticky situations.

Dead ahead, the hulking mass of Brax Wahtto took up a co-pilot's chair. I didn't know much about him. He was somewhere in his forties, although just how far I wasn't certain. He wasn't much for socializing beyond letting me know which cargo needed picked up and dropped off or which parts of the ship could use work, and that was just fine by me. He did his job and he did it well, I didn't need him to be a good conversationalist, too.

Letting go of Dalga, I stumbled across the room toward Brax like a newborn ikopi, lunging for the back of his chair as soon as it came within reach, desperately holding myself upright. 

“How'd he get the drop on us?” I asked, my grip tightening as the ship shuddered and groaned.

“Hate to say it, Cap'n, hate to give any piece o' shab a compliment, but he's just that good,” Brax answered. Another tremor shook the ship before the strongest lurch yet ripped me off Brax's chair and sent me flying backward. I hit the floor hard, my head bouncing off the floor and sending spots dancing across my vision. The pain bloomed out suddenly and I tasted copper in my mouth. 

There was a moment of absolute silence, then Brax's booming voice exploded, hurling all manner of insults and curses at the pilot while his hands flew from lever to lever.

On either side of me, Jos and Toba knelt down to help me sit up. As I did, another wave of dizziness washed over me.

“Easy, Cap'n, ya knocked too loud,” Jos said, his fingers reaching back to tentatively sweep through my hair and examine the area of impact.

“Tell us true, Jossy, is the cap'n a lost cause? Is she gonna die? Is a head wound all it takes to end the legacy of the great Cap'n Patem?” Toba joked, his voice booming dramatic. I felt the corner of my mouth lift in amusement and let the two pull me up off the floor and set me back on my feet. The two made a big show of brushing dirt and dust from my clothing, and Toba's hand lingered just long enough on my rear to earn a slap that had him cackling like a Kowakian monkey-lizard.

Just as I looked out the wideshield and into the black of space, a sudden streak of gray crossed from one side to the other. I shook Jos and Toba off and hurried back to Brax's chair, my eyes peeled and staring out the shield. I counted thirty-seven seconds before the gray streak returned, crossing across the same place.

For a moment, my memory was perfectly clear.

I remembered the pilot, could see his crooked smile and warm, brown eyes, his olive skin and dark hair that curled under his ears. He had an accent, one that I couldn't place at the time and still couldn't even now, but I remember it had done wonderful things to me when he spoke, his head leaned down close to my ear so I could hear him over the music and chatter of fellow patrons, warm breath tickling my neck and sending pleasant shivers all across my body.

“Joreth Sward,” I said out loud. Ever the diligent one, I could hear Sivi searching the name.

“Twelve total, none are pilots,” she said only a few moments later. I snorted. Of course it had been an alias. I swallowed down the bitter taste of disappointment and rejection. For years I pretended not to care, and it seemed I only cared more, not less, the longer I tried to convince myself I didn't.

I made my way to the pilot's chair and dropped down none too gracefully, spinning around and letting my fingertips lightly brush over the controls. 

Once upon a time, Dom told me you could tell if you were born to be a pilot, and when I asked him how, he took my hands and placed them on the dash.

“Do you feel that,” he asked, “that spark in your fingertips?” 

I did. The moment I touched the controls I could feel it. A warm, buzzing tingle that urged me to move, to touch, to fly. My fingers had twitched and my stomach had flipped and, if Dom was to be believed when he told the story over and over again for the next few years, a wicked grin as bright as the lights of Galactic City had spread across my face.

I felt that spark now. Felt my fingers twitch with the need to let loose and fly, so I let them. The moment I had a firm grip on the steering and felt that smooth, cool metal under my palms, all remaining traces of my spice high faded away.

“Brax, switch to cannons. Blast 'im the second you catch sight of 'im,” I commanded, following the path the gray streak had taken just a few seconds earlier. 

“You want 'im dead, Cap'n?” Brax questioned.

I hesitated.

Did I?

My mind drifted back to that night at the cantina. I could taste the tangy fizz of my Starshine Surprise on my tongue, could smell the rich sweetness of spiced beer on his breath. He said something that was lost in the noise of the room, but it tickled my ear and he was awfully cute, so I threw my head back and laughed anyway. He had slung his arm low around my hips and leaned in close, ducking his head down and pressing his lips to the soft skin just under where my jaw met my ear. 

I couldn't remember much more than that. Most likely he had realized I was far too drunk to be of any use to him, so he had left me to my delirium and bailed. A shame, really. It had been a long time for me, and since I couldn't remember most of the guys I had slept with anyway, it was pretty easy to say “Joreth Sward” was already a hundred times better than all of them put together on their best days.

A part of me was embarrassed. I had been into him and pushing hard, and the whole time he had been after something. The smiles, the chuckles, the soft touches. They had all been attempts at plying information from me.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got until I finally had my decision.

“Dead or dyin'. Shoot that karkin' flyboy right outta the sky.”


	2. Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could really see him now, even better than I could in the low-lit bar. He was still handsome, but I could see dark shadows under his eyes from a lack of sleep. Lines around his eyes and mouth from stress. Tension in his body from remaining hyper-aware for too long. 
> 
> All in all, he looked like a soldier.
> 
> A soldier I really wanted to shoot.
> 
> “It's pronounced 'Meer-eh,' actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a lot with this chapter.
> 
> I'd appreciate some constructive criticism and advice.

 

 

A shudder started from the back of the ship and traveled all the way to the front, the sound of creaking metal and groaning joists following close behind.

 

“Damage?” I called out, tightening my grip on the steering as the shudder grew stronger. It was like the ship was bucking wild, fighting me every step of the way.

 

“Shields are lost, Cap'n! Engine's dyin', hull's givin' in! We're limpin' hard!” There was a slight edge of panic to Toba's voice as he gave the report, something I hadn't heard from him in a long time. Not since the Kessel job.

 

I clenched my jaw and started to count in my head, desperately trying to swallow my anger and focus. It was a trick Dom had taught me after my first screw-up, back when the spice made my temper short, back when I was young enough that I had something to prove.

 

It didn't work.

 

“Why is my kriffin' ship fallin' apart to some karkin' schutta in a hunk of flying Reb junk?” I hollered, angrily slamming my fists on the dash and spinning around to face the room. Beside me, I heard Brax let out a string of curses as he switched over main flight control to his side and took over.

 

Jos and Toba stumbled over one another, running back and forth, checking screen after screen. Sivi sat straight-backed at her station, calm and composed while she tried to work her magic. Dalga was nowhere in sight, and I knew that was because he had scurried down to the engine room like the dutiful little Jakrab he was.

 

“Someone say something!” I shouted.

 

There was a brief moment of silence while everyone kept their heads down, then Brax spoke up.

 

“Ship's been breakin' down since Tatooine. Ain't had the money for proper repairs. Not for nothin', cap'n's been flyin' high as a mynock with vengeance on 'er mind.”

 

I sat still, staring at a wall while I took in what Brax had said. I felt a flicker of shame.

 

“So it's my fault, is it?” I asked, turning the chair just a little further so I could look at the side of Brax's face. He didn't turn to face me, didn't take his eyes off the wideshield.

 

“Seems like it to me, Cap'n,” he said, voice low and steady.

 

Another shudder and a rough jerk had me holding on tight to the chair seat, and when it passed I got up and stepped over to Brax's chair. My hands were shaking, probably from the nerves twisting my gut, so I placed them on the chair back, hard enough that he'd feel it.

 

I had seen Dom deal with a restless crew member before. It had been quick. A fist to the jaw, a foot to the gut, a week in the brig. Looking down at Brax, I knew that method wouldn't work. He was twice my size, and somehow I didn't think he'd just walk into the cage of his own free will.

 

I closed my eyes and took a breath, disappointed in how shallow and shaky it was, then let it back out. Dom always told me I was clever, that I could tell what made people tick. What they needed.

 

Brax needed this job.

 

“If you're unhappy with how I'm runnin' things on my ship, then by all means, step on off. Don't care when, don't care why. You can't follow my orders with a shut mouth then I don't need you here. You can find yourself another gig with another crew. Understand?”

 

I held my breath, listening close. I wasn't sure if he'd fall in line, and I didn't want to have to deal with him if he didn't. Brax's shoulders tensed and lifted, then relaxed again. He let out a grumble, then a sigh.

 

“Aye, Cap'n. My mistake.”

 

I felt a flood of relief wash through me. I gave the chair back a solid couple of pats and made a decision, one I knew Dom wouldn't have approved of.

 

“Nah, not your mistake. Mine. Shoulda known not ta fly high. Can ya get us outta this mess?”

 

I could practically hear Dom in my head. _Captains are never wrong, and they never apologize for mistakes they don't make, see?_

 

I gave my head a quick shake. _Yeah, captains don't make mistakes. That's why you're dead and I'm still flyin' free._

 

“Dunno, Cap'n. The ship's two shots from asteroid turf and this skug ain't slowed down a wink since he started firin' on us.”

 

I crossed over to Sivi's station and leaned over her shoulder, eyeing the nav computer. She seemed to have the same thought I did.

 

“It's called Yavin Prime,” she said, pulling up the red planet's schematics on screen for me to see. “Gaseous, so we can't land, but the moons are habitable. Closest is Yavin 2. Mostly mountainous, some forest, but there are a few cities there that might have air defense. We fly close enough with blaster fire on our tail they might jump to.” I stood straight and hollered over my shoulder.

 

“You heard her, Brax. Get us to Yavin 2, quick as ya can. Shake the sleemo if you can, but he's no longer priority. We are.”

 

“Got it, Cap'n.”

 

I stepped up to Jos and Toba, who had found themselves on hands and knees, rewiring this or that with some cheap wire and binder tape they had picked up from a nasty Toydarian a few months ago, grabbed them by the arms and urged them up to their feet.

 

“Boys, get yourselves decked out and down to loading. Be ready for a fight.”

 

The two nodded and rushed off while I turned and activated the ship comm.

 

“Dalga, you still alive?”

 

“Aye, Cap'n!”

 

“How's she doin'?”

 

“Heatin' high, Cap'n. 'Bout ready ta give for good.”

 

“Can ya coax her through a little longer? Five minutes?”

 

“Five? You got it, Cap'n!”

 

I shut off the comm and sat myself back in the pilot's chair. Just as I looked up at the wideshield, I saw the gray streak flash just out of sight. I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. I wanted that cocky spacer dead, but that would have to wait til we were back in fighting shape.

 

Yavin 2 was coming up on us fast, and I could see from here they had the air defense we needed. A large, double-barrel defense turret built over what had to have been the main base of a spaceport, pointed straight up at the sky.

 

“Sivi, open comms,” I ordered before clearing my throat and prepping myself for a conversation that had the potential to go bad real fast. Just as I heard the beeping of the comms requesting an open line, I sat upright and craned my neck to look over at Sivi.

 

“Wait! They Imps or Rebs?” She shrugged her shoulders.

 

“No Imperial bases, no Rebel ties. Why?”

 

I sighed and slumped back in my chair.

 

“Just wanted to know what accent would get us help quicker.” Beside me, Brax chuckled.

 

“Always did like your Imp voice, Cap'n. Real believable.”

 

I opened my mouth to respond, but the trill of the comms signaling a connection stopped me short.

 

“Starship, this is Yavin 2 Port I-77-J. Identify yourself.”

 

I leaned forward.

 

“Port I-77-J, this is Captain Javik of the starship Fleetwing Five, escorting cargo to Corellia. We're taking heavy fire from an unknown fighter. Requesting aid and a landing,” I said, voice proper like an honorable trader.

 

There was silence over the comms.

 

We waited for a long while, too long to be comfortable. I leaned forward and opened comms again.

 

“Port I-77-J, advise. Requesting aid and a landing, time sensitive.”

 

Silence.

 

“Cap'n, you think they know we're-” Brax started to speak, but a hit to our starboard side sent the whole ship spinning, throwing me out of the pilot's chair and onto the floor. A sharp turn had the ship angling steep and I slid across the floor, slamming into the side of the cabin hard enough I felt the air leave my lungs.

 

“Dammit, Mirhe, use your karkin' seat straps,” I choked under my breath, gasping to fill my lungs back up while I held the arm that had hit the wall hardest.

 

“Karkin' ship jockeys! Doshin' skugs! Damn 'em ta hell an' back!” Brax had gone red in the face from his shouting, and just as I was pushing myself up off the floor he jerked the ship from one side to the other quick, and I tumbled back down. I rolled back across the floor and managed to gather enough sense to guide myself to the pilot's chair. I hit the post of the chair hard and curled around it, holding on tight while Brax swung the ship back and forth.

 

“What the hell are you doin', Whatto?” I cried, grip starting to slip from all the sweat gathering on my palms.

 

“Port blasted us! Hit on starboard!”

 

Once the ship evened back out, I reached up and got hold of the dash, hauling myself up and into the chair. I hurriedly pulled the seat straps out and fastened them over myself, anchoring me to the chair.

 

“Sivi, where do we go?” I asked.

 

“We've steered away from Yavin 2. Nearest moon is Yavin 5, but I don't think we should try to land. That hit was intentional.”

 

“'Intentional?' Whaddya mean?”

 

“They scuffed us, Captain. Grazed us just enough to make us skittish and send us running. They're leading us, and it can't be for any good reason.”

 

“It's that karkin' rebel pilot. He must've contacted 'em first. Said somethin' to 'em.”

 

I couldn't help it.

 

I let out a furious shriek, one that rubbed my throat raw and had me kicking anything nearby. It was childish and ill-timed, but my tantrums usually were. A side-effect of the spice, I always figured. Short temper, bad critical thinking.

 

I pounded my fists on the dash a few times, just enough to really make them hurt, before throwing my head back, closing my eyes, and counting to fifty, slowing my breathing to match the pace of my numbers.

 

It was quiet for a good while, the crew giving me time to gather myself.

 

“What's the plan, Cap'n?” Brax asked, and I rolled my head to the side to look at him better. Not a bit of fear there, only the remnants of a red flush of anger that was slowly fading away.

 

“I don't know, Brax. I think I flew us right in the middle of a trap, and I don't know how ta get us out,” I answered honestly. He just nodded and looked back out the wideshield. There was an awkward stretch of silence, during which I stared at him and he stared out the wideshield and nobody did anything at all.

 

“What are you doing?” I finally asked, and Brax looked back over at me.

 

“Waitin' for orders, Cap'n.”

 

“I ain't got none.”

 

“Ain't never been on a job with ya where ya didn't have some sorta plan, even a half-assed one with bad odds.”

 

I sighed. I had an idea alright, but it was pretty stupid. I looked at Brax and he looked back, waiting.

 

“Fine. Here's the plan. We cut power and play dead, guide our drift to face us out toward-”

 

Suddenly, my body was thrown to the right, lifting out of the seat just far enough that for one sick, gut-wrenching moment I thought I was going to crash through the wideshield. The seat straps caught me, unyielding and unforgiving, and sent me back into the chair. A deep, bruising pain blossomed across my chest from where the straps had dug in, and a sharper one took up in my right shoulder and neck as I felt something shift inside my body in a way that it wasn't meant to.

 

The sound of twisting metal and warning sirens filled the cabin, and flashing emergency lights blinded me and made me sick to my stomach.

 

Again I felt myself lift out of the chair as the Free Sky started to fall. I tried to grab on to the edges of the chair, but my right arm had gone numb and my fingers wouldn't work. The seat straps dug in to keep me in place and I cried out in sheer agony, a tingling, burning pain eating its way up and down my arm.

 

I looked out the wideshield and swallowed hard. We were headed straight for the surface of one of Yavin's moons, and if the sirens and lights were anything to go by, it wasn't going to be a gentle landing. I forced my head to turn against the pain and watched as Brax pulled up on the steering, jaw clenched and arms tense.

 

We were going to crash in a karkin' suicide sled.

 

I looked back out the wideshield and watched as the large forests covering the surface of the moon got closer, changing from forests to forest, then forest to trees. Branches snapped off against the wideshield, and a particularly large outcropping of rock hit the side of the ship just hard enough to spin us around nearly in a complete circle. An insistent tremor took over the ship, and I knew we had touched down on surface and had started to skid.

 

The Free Sky groaned and creaked, and a sharp, sudden jerk sent me forward. The seat straps that had been holding me in loosened, letting go so that I continued forward out of the seat. I watched with wide eyes as the dash came up on me fast.

 

**********

My head hurt. Bad.

 

I groaned and rolled over, then slowly opened my eyes. I was staring at the underside of the dash from the floor, and damn, did my head really hurt. I reached up and tentatively pressed my fingertips against my forehead where it hurt the most, only to let out a hiss of pain and snatch them back. They were wet, and when I looked at them I saw plenty of sticky red all over.

 

As I moved to grab hold of the dash, a stinging pain flared up my right arm. I held onto my shoulder with my good hand for a moment, a useless attempt at stopping the pain, and slowly recalled what had just happened.

 

Something had hit the ship and sent it crashing to the surface of a Yavin moon.

 

Gritting my teeth, I pulled my knees up to my chest and rocked back and forth until I built up the momentum I need to throw myself forward and onto the chair seat in front of me. I fell into it face first, unwilling to let go of my injured arm, and struggled to use my elbows and side to get me back on my feet.

 

“Brax?” I called out, the name coming out more as a grunt. “Sivi?”

 

I stumbled and nearly fell as the cabin seemed to give a lurch and started to spin. Something sparked and shorted out to my right. Another something fell from wherever it had been with a loud clang and rolled for a little while.

 

“Cap'n, you okay?”

 

Jos stood in the doorway of the entrance to the cabin, a bloody gash across his cheek and a blaster in hand. I shrugged and immediately cried out in pain, grabbing for my shoulder once again. He was at my side in an instant, fingers probing at my shoulder.

 

“Dislocated. What'd ya run into, Cap'n?”

 

I let out a halfhearted laugh. “Everything.”

 

Jos poked at me a bit more, paying close attention to my head, before ducking under my good arm and pulling it across his shoulders.

 

“Let's get ya down ta loading, Cap'n, I think you've jarred yer head a little too much,” he said, half guiding me and half pulling me toward the doorway. I pulled back.

 

“Wait, no. Brax and Sivi.”

 

“Brax is down below already. Told me ta come get ya. Said you bashed your head again and 'e didn't want ta move ya,” Jos said, giving my arm a tug. I resisted.

 

“Sivi?”

 

“I'm here, Captain.”

 

I leaned back a little so that I could see around Jos and let out a sigh of relief when I saw Sivi sitting at her station, straight-backed as ever.

 

“We've landed on Yavin 4. Forest moon, not much civilization. I've been trying to send a distress beacon, but there seems to be something jamming our signal,” she said. She unlatched her seat straps and stood, slightly wobbly, then came over to join Jos and I. I felt her hands at my waist and back offering support.

 

Together, she and Jos practically carried me out of the cabin and through the small passages of the ship. More sparks and clangs filled the air and I felt my heart drop lower and lower at each sound. My poor ship had taken a serious beating.

 

“What happened?” I asked, and I could feel Jos tense underneath my arm.

 

“Our mysterious pilot flew his ship into our port side. Extensive damage. Whatto was forced to land here,” Sivi answered. She grabbed a fistful of the cloth at the waistband of my pants and used it to help lift me over a raised brace along the floor.

 

“Judgin' by what you said earlier, I'm guessin' you think this is what he wanted the whole time?” I asked. There was a pit in my stomach, a sense of unease. I didn't like the looks of our situation.

 

“That is correct, Captain. If you'll recall, our original flight path took us toward Ord Mantell. That's quite far away from Yavin.”

 

My brow furrowed as I tried to draw up a map of the galaxy in my head.

 

“How did we get so far off course? We hadn't been engaged much longer than twenty minutes.”

 

“I believe he sent a signal that scrambled our navigation coordinates and altered our flight path by a small amount over a lengthy time so that we wouldn't notice the change.”

 

The corridor we had been walking down opened up into the much larger loading bay, where crates of valuable goods had been tossed around and upended. My eyes drifted over to the spice corner out of habit, and I bit my tongue hard when I saw several of the crates busted open, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Compromised product meant no resale value, not to mention a much smaller stash for myself.

 

“Toba, me an' Sivi got the Cap'n! She's in need o' some care, though!” Jos called out, his voice echoing just slightly.

 

“Over here,” Toba answered from somewhere further in, and all three of us immediately stopped. The flat, defeated tone of his voice was unnerving, and I exchanged a glance with Jos, who immediately exchanged a glance with Sivi behind me.

 

“Someone dead?” Jos offered as explanation, keeping his voice low so as not to let anyone but us hear. I shook my head and regretted it immediately, feeling my stomach churn as the room started to wobble.

 

“More like someone's on my ship who shouldn't be,” I said, and Sivi spoke up in agreement.

 

“And that someone has us outgunned. Our rebel pilot, most likely.”

 

We all stood there for a while, prolonging the situation just a little longer. No plans came to mind, and I'm sure Jos and Sivi didn't expect me to have one, what with how banged up I was. Nonetheless, I elbowed Jos to get his attention.

 

“Ask Dalga how many wake-up stims he has. Say I need 'em.” Jos looked at me as if I was crazy, but I only raised my eyebrows expectantly. He glanced back at Sivi, who apparently had nothing helpful to offer him, because he looked out into the docking bay and cleared his throat.

 

“'Ey, Dalga? You there?”

 

There was a brief moment of silence.

 

“Aye, I'm 'ere.”

 

“Cap'n needs some o' 'em waker-upper stims. How many you got?”

 

Another pause.

 

“'Bout twelve, I think. Up in my quarters. She in bad shape?”

 

Job looked down at me, jerking his head toward the direction Dalga's voice came from urgently. He wanted to know what to say.

 

“Tell 'im I'm unconscious. Say I broke somethin' an' ask for help carryin' me.”

 

Jos let out a quiet groan, clearly uncomfortable and confused, but cleared his throat nervously anyway.

 

“Uh, see, the Cap'n knocked 'er head in the crash. She ain't wakin' up. Somethin's wrong with 'er leg, too. Think you can come over 'ere an' help us out?”

 

Silence, followed by a voice I knew all too well. I may've been drunker than a Hutt, but I remembered that accent.

 

“I think your Captain is just fine. In fact, I think she's trying to stall and come up with a clever plan to get you all out of the mess she put you in.”

 

I clenched my jaw and felt my face heat up, out of anger or embarrassment or both, I didn't know.

 

“Captain Mirhe Patem, come out unarmed and none of your crew will be harmed,” he added.

 

I absently noted his pronunciation of my name. _Meer-ee._

 

I realized Jos had been looking at me, waiting for orders. I sighed and nodded. Sivi and I waited while Jos lifted his blaster from its holster and placed it on a nearby crate. He re-situated himself under my arm and readjusted his grip, then the three of us continued our pathetic limp toward the center of the loading bay.

 

As we walked past the last of the crates on our side, the rest of my crew came into view. It was strange seeing Dalga and Toba on their knees, hands behind their heads. Even stranger seeing Brax laying on his front, arms held behind his back by metal bracers.

 

He must've fought back.

 

We finally staggered out into the open, and sure enough there were twelve blaster rifles pointed at us, just as Dalga had said. There were thirteen men, though.

 

The thirteenth was front and center, arms held across his chest and feet apart in what Dom once told me was called a “power stance.” _It intimidates, you see. Lets 'em know you mean business._

 

I rolled my eyes once I got a good look at the man.

 

Joreth Sward, the charming pilot with honeyed words and sweet-as-nectar lips. He still looked good, although now I was far more interested in pushing him out a moving ship than I was in pushing on him.

 

I let Jos and Sivi guide me further out into the open before stopping altogether. I pulled my arm out of Jos' grip and used it to untangle Sivi's fingers from my shirt. Once they had both let go, I continued forward on my own, deadset on meeting Joreth Sward head on. I wobbled and staggered a bit, but I stayed upright and kept my pride intact. Stopping just a foot away, I flashed him a smile.

 

I could really see him now, even better than I could in the low-lit bar. He was still handsome, but I could see dark shadows under his eyes from a lack of sleep. Lines around his eyes and mouth from stress. Tension in his body from remaining hyper-aware for too long.

 

All in all, he looked like a soldier.

 

A soldier I really wanted to shoot.

 

“It's pronounced ' _Meer-eh_ ,' actually.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know the mechanics of spaceships, so anything you read is literally just babble with some marine terminology, some things I've heard on cop shows, etc. Basically, I made it sound cool-ish with little concern to whether or not it would make sense.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or anything, just the first little bit of a story that I've been meaning to write. To be honest, it's a miracle I even got this put together.
> 
> So, everything I know about Star Wars is from the movies, the games, the wiki, and/or my sister. I've made some stuff up myself, taken a few liberties with stuff I've looked up, and etc.


End file.
